Autumn's Game
by Tiana Calthye
Summary: A freelance investigator in Coruscant's lower levels, Orlin Wells is hired by a now dead woman to find a kidnapped Kuati child. Sent off with the presumed brother of the missing girl, is there enough time to find the girl before someone else is murdered?
1. Chapter 1

**Autumn's Game  
**_A Star Wars mystery story_

**Rating: **PG for violence, use of the term "bloody", and emotional and potentially abusive themes.  
**Genre: **Mystery/Supernatural/Drama  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own Star Wars. I do, however, own all original characters; and all appearing characters most likly _are_. This is a first-person view story, not related at all to the Star Wars movies. I don't care if it doesn't follow canon, because by all rights, it'll avoid being related to canon at all costs. Consider it, in a sense, an original story with a writer too lazy to make a new universe. Probably AU due to... stuff.

**A/N: **_Yes, I have been reading the Nightside books by Simon R. Green lately. Constructive reviews are nice. Flames are not.This was in response to a challenge on in which we were to use certain words in a story_.

**-Chapter One:**-

Though Coruscant never did have trees, I found myself thinking that as I walked along the overbearing paths, there should have been branches overhanging. Branches laden with brown leaves just waiting to fall their twisted ways down and flutter to the sidewalk. But no, this was _Coruscant_. The heart of the galaxy, a place where cause and effect were both the same thing, regal home of the Jedi Knights, and utmost chaotic center—I sighed to myself. This was Coruscant, no one would deny it.

The gem of the galaxy, and also the darkest center it could ever have birthed.

But even here, up in the royal dwellings nearer to the surface, in a more secluded area, I had no time to waste bemused over the lack of trees. It was a fact. Coruscant hadn't had trees in years, and this was no time to be spending all my spare time ragging over it. So there was no fitting mood. It wouldn't hurt anything if all that surrounded me was tall, skyscraping buildings which glimmered in both the sunlight and unnatural mechanics drowning out all true lighting. In fact, it was almost blinding; I most certainly couldn't afford the distracted point of being.

It still would've been a nice touch, however. Having dead leaves falling to be crushed under my booted feet, the golden-warm sunlight smiling down upon a face masked in shadow. This wasn't my home. I never had quite accepted Coruscant as my home; no place without true sunlight could ever be friendly to me. But nonetheless, it was where I lived.

As much as people go on about home is where the heart is, they're wrong. Home _is_ where the heart is, but that doesn't necessarily mean your heart is where your feet are. Certainly, Coruscant offers opportunities. It also offers poverty.

Perhaps it was simply my luck I was born into the situation I was.

Here, atop the city, there were no parking places. I supposed it didn't matter, it didn't do me any harm to walk and there weren't enough sentients here for me to have any strong degree of fear. It was almost as if intentionally, the place had been wiped of all humanity. I'm not a Force user; Jedi are as alien as a Hutt would be to me. But there's a sixth sense built into any human being, particularly one who's spent most of their life living by cynicism and distrust.

I should know. I've got the blaster scars to prove it. You don't survive in a ruthless galaxy by dithering in a grove and letting trees shed leaves on you. Simply a nice thought. Nothing more.

Kicking a rock aside (I didn't question where it had come from, it didn't look to be natural, simply a piece of durecrete broken from a building) I approached the nearest building. For a moment, I questioned the accuracy of my directions. Here! But, no… it was the same numbers and coordinates in Coruscant's many layers, the same ones listed on the blue screen of my datapad in firm Basic letters.

Nonetheless, the tall silver building intimidated me. It seemed to scrape the very sky itself; yea, even surpass it and taunt the ships up there in the atmosphere and vacuum itself. I don't deny it, I'm a bit of a melodramatic touch at times. I can't help it. It's nearly killed me a few times, but all in all, things could be a lot worse.

After all, I could be _naïve_.

But… still.

A whistle escaped between my teeth as I approached it and pulled the door open. The questioning gazes of security gave me severe looks. _Human guards_, I thought to myself. Any place rich enough to pay for a sentient's training as a full-blown guard had to be out to lunch. I mean, you know a restaurant's a good one when they have human or Twi'lek waiters. Well, at least the former. The latter tend to drift towards more… you know… the whole wink nudge sort of idea. Sentients, at any rate, when droids can be hired for minuscule rates (don't ask me what they do with the money), tend to indicate the wealth of a location.

I didn't need to see the human security guards to know that the place was rich, though. That was revealed the moment I stepped onto the plush velvet carpet, gazing out at a soft pink and silver interior. Everything was streamlined, even moreso than what Coruscant can offer normally. It was a far cry from the sharp edged basement levels _I _come from, anyway. Down there, graffiti litters more than just the walls and trash cans. It's a dangerous place.

Here, you could almost forget that such a place even existed.

Here, it was breathtaking.

I heard the one guard step up behind me, letting the moment pass with a bit of openmouthed gaping at the splendor. You don't expect this when you're called out on a case. Not when you're the local lower-levels freelancer.

A hand clamped down onto my shoulder. I turned smoothly to face the detective, staring at his pale blue eyes. His face was hidden underneath the helmet; I didn't have to look to know that he would be protected by blast shields and that if I tried harming him or resisting any orders, I'd be shot.

"No one enters with weapons."

I blew a whistle out between my teeth. "Hey, hey. I'm not planning on shooting anyone—" At his expression, I saw that was the wrong thing to say. I wasn't quite certain why, only that it had been wrong, somehow. I pulled my blaster from the holster, offering it hilt-first to the guard.

His face was both cynical and somehow demeaning. "Do you have authorization?"

My fingers slipped to my belt slowly, carefully. He didn't look the type to just stand there and let me whip out a hidden weapon. I retrieved it, handing it over to the guard. A long, uncomfortable silence passed as he scrutinized the orders. I wasted it examining a strange abstract painting on the wall. It depicted, ironically, a fall foliage abstract. Somehow woven underneath all the chaos was the villainous smile of triumph, of a hidden secret.

The guard had tapped me on the shoulder several times before I turned sharply. He shook his head, handing back the datapad. I almost thought I had been denied entry when he sighed. "Your loss."

Somehow, I felt I had missed something.

There was a turbolift in the lobby; I took it to the correct floor with no further interference from guards. The streamlined place now seemed ever so slightly more suspicious to my trained thoughts, though it might have simply been a distrust of upper-level dwellers, and simply high-born people in general. I couldn't help it. It wasn't as if I had to love them.

The plush carpet continued down the hallway once I reached the correct floor. Was there no end to the infernal wealth of these levels? It seemed to me as if it had been made to rub it in the faces of the lower lifes. We were lesser.

Door…

_83-A_. I stopped at reaching the correct apartment, hitting the buzzer. Odd. Most lower-level apartments had buzzers at the doors, alerting the people in the apartments. I hadn't thought the upper Coruscanti would've been any different. But at least they had security guards on continual patrol. I could've broken into any lower-level apartment building without a second's thought. This one at least appeared to have strong security.

A woman answered the door. A woman who I simply hoped was the one who had contacted me.

"Ielsa Jhome?" I asked tentatively.

"Lady Jhome is dead," the curt answer came.

Like I hadn't already suspected it. As I mentioned, you don't get anywhere in my job by disregarding foolish little clues. I stuck my foot in the door before she could slam it, though it actually didn't look as if she had planned to. I had a very strong suspicion that I was about to become a pawn in a lot larger of a game. This dejarik game had begun.

"She hired me."

"I know."

A snob, or else this woman was Kuati by birth. I didn't care to know. I carried on, pressuring her gently. "Why?"

"Because she very clearly desired aid."

"In what?"

"Quite possibly in this house."

_Oh, for…_ "For what purpose did she hire my aid in what sort of mission, conquest, thing?"

"Horrid grammar." The woman snorted snobbishly. "I suppose you cannot possibly ask any more politely than that. Thaeran was kidnapped. I do not see why a droid detective did not suit her. Nonetheless, you still arrived. And I suppose you wish to carry out this tirade."

"Well… if she's _dead…_"

The woman shook her head. "Dead or not, you still happen to be under her employee." She cast me a pointed look. "As it may be, Raoin has offered to accompany you."

All the strange names, and no time to absorb them. Had she not been glowering at me with this horrid gray gaze, I would've muttered rather unflattering terms to myself. "Right. Where's this Raoin?"

A shorter boy (I suppose it was unessential information to indicate my height being rather taller than the average human male) appeared from behind the woman. She was tall, and very imposing in the doorway. I hadn't noticed him before now. Black haired and gray eyed, he also seemed to carry the annoying Kuati bearing I had a bad feeling I'd be getting very accustomed to being around if this case continued. Or, at least, getting more or less used to. I didn't think I could ever grow to not _mind_ that infernal accent drilling at my mind.

I judged him to be a young teenager, acne spots showing up along his neck and forehead. Perhaps fourteen at the oldest.

I stifled the urge to laugh aloud, nonetheless. Kuati people, from what I had heard, were very success oriented. Perhaps one of their teenage children would be more mature than the standard from where I had come from. I mean, when I was fourteen, I spent my time tying knots in people's shoelaces and hitting girls with spitballs. This—this child…

His gaze frightened me.

"Right, well…"

I sighed.

"Are you going to let me in? I can't very well find some girl… Thaeren, wasn't it?" I didn't wait for any acknowledgement, anyway. "Well, I can't find her if I don't know what to look for…"

"Raoin will tell you." That was no polite phrasing in her voice. It was an order. An order that came from a voice expected to be obeyed.

Some part of me wanted to grovel and mutter _yes, Master_ at her, but I had a feeling she would behead me if I tried. After all, it would've been undeniable satire. "So you're just sending the kid with me!"

"Why not?"

"…Well… school, and he's just a kid, and…"

"You can't possibly be afraid of taking care of a teenage boy for a period of time?" She cast me a haughty and very humorless smile. "After all, you are one yourself. He shall not be a bother, and knows what you need."

"Yes, but…"

"He will accompany you." It was an explicit order; this time I didn't keep the wince from showing on my face.

I gave her my best steely detective glower. Of course, she wasn't short enough for it to be of full effect. I prefer my clients to be under five and a half feet if all possible. They're far easier to intimidate. The six foot tall women… well… they're scary. They can glare you nearly in the eye, and intimidate you right back. The ones that know they can… well…

It's not that far off to admit that they're even worse.

"Right," I growled. "You're just so trusting, sure I'm not a random murderer here to claim your kid."

_As if I'd care_, her eyes seemed to say. I grabbed the kid's arm, pulling him into the hallway. They had expected this, clearly. He had a backpack with him already. I hated dealing with people like this. They came to conclusions almost immediately, and somehow knew everything before you did. In situations like these, it was then that I wished I were a Jedi Knight. At least then I'd know what their point was.

"Look, kid. If you're coming along, you're not going to be a disturbance. You'll tell me what I need to know, when I need to know it. Right?"

His eyes bored into mine. "Of course."

It was that moment that I realized this Raoin scared me. Was there a child underneath this adult mind's shell left to dig out? Or would I be accompanied by yet another Kuati manipulator? One who would slowly tear away at my very mind until I was driven past the point of no return, where only sanity laughed at me from its corner…

I did mention I was a bit melodramatic, right?

"You will take Raoin to your police cruiser or whatever. There he will give you whatever directions you need."

I found her choice of words interesting. Not a speeder. I filed it away for later observation in case it ever came in handy. Likely as not it was simply another accent, one of the finer aspects of a Kuati accent, rather than traditional Basic. Water closet instead of a toilet, and such not. But it was an interesting observation; the amount of people I knew who referred to speeders and ships as cruisers I could count on one hand.

Nonetheless, there was a bit more unimportant banter. I was more interested by those intensive eyes that child profferred. He dressed like a noble. Well, if his mother (I presumed that was who she was) was so out to send him with me, he'd be out for the shock of his life. I certainly wasn't about to soften the appearance of lower-level life. We left the plush building sometime after that—his mother refusing me entry to her appartment to search for clues even after I had attempted to pressure her.

Her loss.

I made a mental note to myself to bring the kid back in a couple days if I could get no leads from his presense.

* * *

The continual themed paintings of trees and branches and orange remarks stared down at me as we left the pink, satin, and velvet appartment building. I had to admit it, my feet were a bit glad once we left that area, finally walking on true, hard and solid ground. It wasn't a mocking makeup of velvet, made for those not bold enough to walk where it was solid. This was, if nothing else, firm. 

I knew there was probably nothing underneath it. After all, these were the upper levels. But no matter. It was real.

The kid... Raoin, I had to remind myself of his name... followed along silently. His shoes scuffed along the concrete with a sort of dull sense to them. He hadn't wanted to come? I didn't know if he had said anything the entire time. It didn't matter, not yet. I was too busy trying to keep track of the rush of potential possibilities this mission profferred. It was a slightly different case than any I had ever taken on. I admitted it, I would've rathered drop it. When forced into a real, galaxy-wide game of dejarik, I prefer not to be the pawn.

We reached my speeder after a few minute's walk through the silver city. Keying it open, I nodded at the kid. "Well, you're stuck with me, I guess."

"I suppose."

He had that same accent; once he had spoken I was certain he had once before. I remembered that Kuati accent drilling at my mind. Short, but long-legged, Raoin had no difficulty boarding my dark blue speeder. Cruiser, I remembered his mother calling it. A local thing, or...

I walked around and hopped in, not bothering to open the door. I had deactivated the shielding, and there was no point in bothering with a door. It worked, didn't it? But I still had to adjust my tunic underneath myself to sit back in comfortably, keying the vehicle to start up. It gently rose into the air; I brought the map back up to display the route back into the underlevels. People go on and on about men refusing to ask for directions and use maps and such. I don't see why. I'd rather avoid getting lost in the first place, and a steely glare in the right direction can vanquish all potential embarrassment about asking where the nearest cantina is.

"Who are you?"

The kid's voice bit back into my mind. I glanced over at him, supressing a wince at my speeder's distressing groans. "They sent you off with me and didn't even tell you my name!"

"Who are you?" he repeated, clearly irritated at my insistant rambling. At least, that was what his expression said it was.

_Bloody..._ I kicked the underside of my speeder's dash. Did the thing never cooperate? "Orlin. Orlin Wells," I gritted, giving it a second kick. There was a mild sense of satisfaction in my voice as the noises ceased, and the speeder rose back up into the air properly.

I grasped the controls, and steered it away. "You?"

For a moment, I had forgotten. I already knew his name. But he answered anyway, voice almost hidden underneath the clarity of the speeder's hum. "Raoin Autumn, Master Wells."


	2. Chapter 2

An update.

**-Chapter Two-**

The gritty graffiti of the lower levels was far friendlier to me than the sunlit (at least in part) aura of the upper, royal levels. I stole a glance at my passenger, who was clearly both unimpressed and unbothered by the gathered grit of levels and levels of city scum. Hah, very well. My mind mimicked the child's accent slightly. I couldn't help it; it was irritating and got under one's skin.

But I brought my speeder to the side of the parkway, slowing it and keying it to a jerky halt. I had never been one to care much for a smooth landing when a harsh one worked. Hopping out, I snapped the key over to the kid's side of the speeder, watching the door pop open as he climbed out quietly.

"So, why'd they send you, kid?" _Perhaps you should be calling him _boy, a rebellious side of my mind whispered as I locked up the speeder, resetting the force-field which prevented any young hotshots from hopping in, hotwiring it, and taking off. There was enough cases of that in the upper levels, particularly with the nicer brands of speeders. Mine was no exception; small, zippy, and streamlined, its biggest fault was of course that it usually took a good kick in the dash to get it to _keep_ running in its nice, zippy and quick style.

I shot a mental glower inward to silence the voice. I never have condoned the use of simply _boy_ or _girl_ used in demeaning address. At least kid isn't quite so insulting. I won't start a war over it, but it doesn't mean I appreciate such habits used in my presence.

Drinking and swearing is one thing. Being utterly disrespectful is another. I'm not going to be going about calling aliens racist terms.

I had a feeling, though, that this kid was probably no stranger to the address of _boy_.

"Because."

I knew that cool tone all too well. It said 'I'm better than you'. "Right." I gave him a dry look before glancing around at familiar sights. The area was grimy, the sky hardly open to the glamour above-who knew what the kid was thinking? That every business window staring down at him was a front for gangs of pirates and smugglers?

No.

He wouldn't think that way. He'd be thinking _Mother was a fool to hire this creature._ Or some such demeaning thought.

Something touched my mind… mother… but, no, it slipped again. Sometimes I severely regretted my lack of immediate sense of memory. I'd recognize something, and then it'd slip and I'd forget it, and it'd come back when it was too late… always. Or nearly too late, at any rate. Though that tends to only occur in the holovids…

Nonetheless, he followed me silently up the dirt-caked stairways to my apartment, jammed in the middle of a lot of other dirt-caked stairways. To be exact, they weren't dirt-caked. There is very little real dirt in Coruscant; you must give the planet that much credit. No, instead it was oil, fumes, and the other sorts of grime which slowly edges its way through and gets into everything.

It looks like dirt, though. That's what has to matter. It still cakes your boots, it still takes ages to scrub from your clothing when you wake up, half drunk, in a gutter…

It still is dirt.

I flicked the electronic key in the lock, glancing back at the kid, dutifully toting his knapsack. I suppose it didn't matter that he was there. If he'd be of any help, it was worth a shot to tolerate him tagging along. At least he was quiet.

I swung the door open. To my credit, it didn't creak menacingly open to reveal an apartment in shambles. Actually, it swung softly open on its hinges, gradually revealing a moderately messy apartment. Hey, I keep the living area relatively clean. People stop by _sometimes_, and you can't possibly think I follow every stereotype for a detective that exists in the vids. I don't wear a trenchcoat, I don't wear a fedora, and I most certainly do not have a slight beard and rumpled dark hair, dwelling in my shambled and disastrous house. Nor am I a clean freak. Nor… no, I sigh. It's not as if anyone cares whether I follow stereotype.

My house is… moderate. There's a floor. You can see my desk underneath the papers, and there's no dust on it.

The kid's gaze swept over it, clearly unimpressed. Raoin made me mildly uncomfortable, perhaps greatly uncomfortable. Something about him was wrong, but it slipped my memory, teasing every corner of my generally cynical mind, but refusing to sit down and be read. Like a newsflimsy caught in the wind, dancing about as its owner chases after it.

I pointed over at the couch, not bothering to look back at the kid, who I knew had followed me into the apartment and closed the door silently behind him. Contrary to standard bachelorism, I do not live in an apartment with a couch, a television, fridge and a microwave oven. I have a bed, standard appliances (including a dishwasher), and even a desk.

"You can stick your bag behind the couch," I said absently, walking over to the table to glance at the pile of mail I distantly remembered sticking there a couple days ago. That had been when I had received the message from his mother, I thought. I hadn't went through the rest, but it looked to be standard. Bills, a few fliers and various advertising holos. No dirty magazines-really, they do show up randomly in the mail sometimes. You can't avoid stuff like that in the lower levels. I've even gotten samples of various drugs and even death sticks, once or twice. No letter bombs, but I await the day.

Fingering the pile, I shoved them into a half-heap in one corner of the table. They could wait. There was a child who had been kidnapped, the mother (presumably) dead.

There was so little I knew for fact.

Opening the fridge, I pulled out foil covered leftovers, glancing at the inside contents. I had run out of plastic wrap about two weeks ago and hadn't bothered buying anymore. It wasn't as if I _needed_ it to store anything I didn't eat.

I shoved it in the microwave, setting it quickly to _reheat_, and looked back at the kid, who had sat down obediently and silently. Almost droid-like in his behaviors, some perfectly programmed child. "Right. You, kid."

He glanced up at me.

"There's food in the fridge, you can heat it in the mic if you want. There's a vid player-oh, oh, oh, _shavit!_" I swore, slamming on the microwave's open button. The door swung wildly open, slamming into the wall behind it, as sparks from the tinfoil flew out in brilliant and sharp colors.

Note to self: stop attempting to microwave metallic objects.

If I wasn't mistaken (I may have been), there was a brief hint of a smile over the kid's face. I didn't doubt it had been there. He was laughing at me to himself. But I was too busy yanking the now sparking foil wrapper from the bowl of macaroni, yelling from the heat, and dropping it on the floor where it sparked and then fell silent.

A hush fell over the house. At least, it should have. I blew on my fingers before turning the tap on and running them underneath the cool water. In my distraction with the case, I had neglected the simple and obvious fact: metal doesn't go in microwaves. Ever. It hadn't caught on fire, but it could have.

I had also neglected that it was hot.

Lovely day this was turning out to be.

After finally deciding my fingers wouldn't fall off, I gingerly picked up the piece of foil from the floor. It was cool by this point, but I wasn't about to trust the same object with my pain receptors once more. It had harmed me once, and once, yet no more! I tossed it into the garbage receptacle, and put the now cold pasta back into the microwave, this time covering it with another plate.

I think better on a full stomach, but I wasn't so sure this was worth it.

The kid's voice startled me out of my histrionic reverie about everything being against me. "These vids… they're pirate copies."

"Huh?"

"Bootlegged," he explained patiently.

"Huh? Oh, yeah." The microwave let out a whining beep, and I opened it, disregarding any potential radioactive fumes which it may have let out with my impatient lack of heed for waiting to open it. I did, however, consider letting it cool down before pulling it out. One burn was enough for the day.

He gave me a withering look, which I only noticed due to the extraordinarily reflective surface of my stove. I can scarcely see behind my own head, now can I? "That's illegal."

"Yup."

"Aren't you a law enforcer?"

I turned to glance back at him, a predator's smile on my lips. "No. I'm a freelance detective."

An ordinary child would've continued asking questions. This one seemed as if he had to fight to even _consider_ the idea. But after a long pause, during which I decided to pull the pasta from the microwave and set it on the table, he finally spoke again. "What would be the difference?"

I pulled a fork from the sink, glanced at it, and rinsed it off before sticking it on the table. "It means that I have a sentient mind. Get something to eat, or sleep, or something. Because in a few hours, I'm going to ask you a million and a half questions, as soon as I figure out which ones need to be asked."

He didn't swear. He didn't give me a pale stare. He simply looked at me and gave a thin smile. "I know. That's why I'm here."


End file.
